


The Knight Who Wears Dickies

by Zighana



Series: Oscar's Girlfriend [5]
Category: On My Block (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Black Humor, Characters with Mental Illness, F/M, Gen, Origin Story, Self-Harm, Toxic Behavior, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 18:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16666261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zighana/pseuds/Zighana
Summary: "How did you...become a thing?"Oscar and Cleo come clean about their "relationship" to Cesar. And that includes the details that Cesar...probably shouldn't know about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summer, 2017**

 

Cesar, Ruby, Monse and Jamal huddle around Ruby's brother's yearbook, admiring the plethora of photos and signatures dedicated to Mario.

"Wow, dude. Mario is popular." Monse points out. 

"Yeah, that means I have bigger shoes to fill," Ruby muses. He zeroes in on one signature and stops. 

"Hey, whoever this C.W. is, they can draw." He says. The four see an intricately drawn cartoon of Mario, surrounded by math equations. The signature wrote, _'Hope to see you again over the summer. Maybe we could be friends.-C.W.'_

"Hey, Mario!" Cesar calls out. Mario comes in, rubbing the hickey on his neck.

"Yeah?" He yawns out.

"Who's C.W.?" Monse asks, pointing to the drawing. Mario grabs the yearbook and looks at it. 

"She's this goth chick." He flips the yearbook to the 'Class of' section and points to a photo. It's of a chubby black girl with acne, dressed in all black with heavy eyeliner and a cross dangling from her ear. 

"She was nice, just...weird. Only time people wanted to talk to her was so she could draw them something. She wanted friends so bad she did it hoping we'd be her friend. It's really sad when you think about it."

"Why didn't you become her friend?" Monse asks. 

"Because she creeped me out, okay? She had cut marks," He slides his finger up his arm, starting from his wrist and ending where his armpit is, "up to here. Both arms. The bitch is _crazy_."

He walks out, leaving the kids to study the yearbook once more.

 

**Present**

Cesar stands at the front door of his house, taking deep breaths before opening the door.

He's greeted by a bizarre sight: Oscar is cleaning. He's wiping down windows and throwing junk into trash bags. He looks up at Cesar and nods his head. 

"Hey, baby bro." He says to him. 

"What...are you doing...?"

"...What does it look like I'm doing? I'm cleaning this house."

"Why, though?"

"Because I want to fucking clean this house, now are you going to stand there or are you going to move your ass and help?" Oscar says. He grabs a broom and starts sweeping. 

"Yeah, let me go...put my things in my room." Cesar says, walking backwards before walking down the hall to his room. When he opens the door, he says,

"Who the fuck are you?" 

The person he's addressing has their back to him, sweeping his floor and humming. They're wearing a yellow shirt that's tucked into high-waisted blue jeans. The figure stops what they're doing and turns, a cascade of honey blonde braids following, sweeping to their back with the swish of their hand. 

It's a woman, a plump black woman with a baby-doll face and fat cheeks. 

The two lock eyes, both unsure of what to say. 

"Who...are you?" Cesar asks. 

The woman plucks a headphone out of her ear and gestures for him to repeat himself.

"Who are you?" He repeats.

"I'm Cleo. Oscar's..." She trails off, biting her lip. After a pause, she takes a breath.

"I'm his...what's that word he always says? _Ruca_?" She inches closer to Cesar, opening her arms. 

"So nice to meet you. Formally, that is." 

Cesar's eyes sweep over her arms and ice slides into his gut.

Cut marks. Scars. From her wrist all the way up to where her shirt sleeve cuts off. Varying lengths, widths, deep ones and shallow, the menacing ones are at her wrist where her vein pokes through. 

_The bitch is crazy._

"You're C.W." He says. Cleo quirks an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" She asks.

"C.W. The name in Mario's yearbook. The goth chick."

She falters.

"You know Mario. I haven't heard that name in eight years." She says with a sad smile. As if on cue, Oscar comes in to the room, wiping his hands on a rag. He sees the two and turns back to his rag.

"Looks like you two have already been introduced to each other. Well. Baby, I need a little help in the kitchen."

"Of course. What do you want done?"

"Make sure the food doesn't burn." 

Cesar's eyes widen. 

Since _when_ does he ever cook?

Cleo walks past Oscar and he smacks her ass with enough force it sounds like a whip being cracked. Cleo yelps, turning to face Oscar with a look of both annoyance and...arousal, before making her way to the kitchen.

Cesar shudders. 

"I wanted to tell you about her, but I never got the chance to until now." Oscar begins. 

"How long have you been...?"

"A long time. Eight years."

"Eight years? You've been with her for eight years and you hid her from me?"

"It's complicated."

"But-"

"It's complicated. That's...all I can say. The situation, our relationship, the circumstances. It doesn't make sense...but it works for us."

"What about," Cesar gestures to his arms.

Oscar closes his eyes tightly and sighs.

"Don't worry about it. I got her to stop."

"Why did she even-"

"She's _bipolar_ , Cesar."

" _Bipolar_ bipolar or _'feisty Latina'_ bipolar?"

" _Bipolar_ bipolar. Like _'she takes medicine and sees a psychiatrist'_ bipolar."

"Holy shit. She's fucking crazy."

"She's not crazy. Mom had it."

"No, she didn't."

"She had it, Cesar. We have a history of bipolar disorder in the family. I learned about the shit when I had to make funeral arrangements for Mom. Mom been living with untreated bipolar disorder for over thirty years. She wasn't _crazy_ , she was just...a woman who needed help."

"Oh, _fuck_. I didn't know-"

"-That means I did my job hiding it from you. I spent fifteen years hating that woman only to find out she was someone who needed compassion and care." Oscar's voice cracks.

"Fucking...onions. I can smell them all the way in here." He sniffs. Cesar raised his eyebrow.

"Right. Onions." Cesar says thinly. 

 

Dinner is awkward. Cleo is trying to make small talk while Cesar is in awe at his plate and Oscar is checking his phone every fifteen minutes. 

"So," She starts. Bless her heart for trying.

"How was school?"

"Great. Holy shit, Oscar. You got Abuela's pozole recipe down to a T. Oh my God, I haven't had pozole like this since I was six." Cesar hums, mouth full of food. Cleo smiles politely at him. Oscar nods his head.

"Thanks, baby brother. That means a lot." Oscar says with a sniff. 

"Well, today I was studying this thing called _color theory_. Are you guys going over that for your art class?"

"I don't take art classes. I'm taking a lot of maths and sciences. It's for my college plan." 

"You figured what college you going to?"

"UCLA."

"Oh, that's incredible! I got friends that go there. Maybe I can have them reach out to you and set up a way to guarantee you admission..."

The conversation takes off from there. The two are chatting about college, books, classes. The tension is gone, and Cesar finds himself talking and not able to stop. Without thinking, he blurts out, 

"How long have you known my brother?"

"Ten years." Cleo answers.

Oscar chokes on his beer.

"It's been that long?" Oscar asks.

"Yeah. Remember? We met when I was thirteen." 

"I wouldn't call that a meeting. It was...you were at the wrong place at the right time." 

"What are you guys talking about?" Cesar asks. The two look at Cesar and lock eyes.

"Did you know your brother is a hero?" Cleo asks him coyly.

"Oh, not this shit again." Oscar rolls his eyes and leans back. 

"I'm lost. How was he a hero?" Cesar prods.

"He saved my life. He came in...like a knight in black."

**Ten Years Ago**

"Ready to do some work?" 

Oscar's palms are sweaty through the black gloves, his heartbeat racing. His superior looks at him, clasping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

"Do this, and you'll be a Santos." 

The rest is a blur. Oscar, whiskey and tequila on his breath to soothe his nerves, lean against the street-tagged wall and waits for his target. He's drunk, staggering down the alleyway, a girl his age trailing after. She's wearing a school uniform; she goes to a private school, no doubt.

"Sir, are you sure this is the shortcut? I know you know more about this town than I do but I don't think this alley goes anywhere. It's too dark." She whimpers.

She's innocent and gullible.

She's going to get herself killed.

He peeks around the corner. The girl is still there, tugging on his shirt. 

"Sir-"

He backhands the girl. She topples over and falls to the ground. She, rightfully afraid, tries to scamper away but his target grabs her leg and drags her to him. He pulls out a gun.

"You got money. Don't you?" His target demands. The girl shakes her head yes, digging into her coat to pull out her wallet.

"Th-this is all I got." She stammers. The target snatches her wallet and presses the gun to her head.

"The necklace. Hand it over."

"This is my grandmother's. I can't, please."

"Give it to me, now."

"This is all I have left of her-"

His fist collides with her face. Oscar could hear the impact and he cringes.

"You think I give a fuck? You stupid little bitch!" His target shouts. The girl is crying, shrinking away from him. Oscar swears he could smell fresh piss.

The target snatches the necklace off the girl and turns the safety off his gun.

"Fuck it. I ain't got time for this shit." He points the gun at her.

"Please, no. Don't. You got my necklace, I won't tell anyo-"

Oscar fires. 

His target got shot in the head, his neck, and his chest, the back of his head splattering the concrete. The target drops to his knees and falls on the girl, who's screaming hysterically. Oscar runs to drag the girl from under the body. She's sobbing and hyperventilating, running her fingers through her hair. She's got blood on her uniform, blood on her face, blood and brain matter in her hair. Oscar snatches the necklace from the corpse's hand and places it in the girl's shaky hand. 

"You're going to listen to me. Very carefully." Oscar tells her. She's trying to nod, but she blubbers and her sobs get louder. He slaps her. 

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me." He barks. She breathes shaky breaths and nods.

"You are going to go home and tell no one what you saw. I wasn't here. Understand? You didn't see me and you didn't see what took place. All you knew was you were about to get mugged, you heard gunshots, the man would up dead."

The girl is in the stages of shock. He shakes her back to reality.

"Listen to me. You got mugged, you heard gunshots, the man wound up dead. Say it."

"I...I got mugged and...heard gunshots, and the m-m-man...is dead."

"You didn't see me or whoever shot him."

"I didn't see you or whoever shot him."

"You didn't have to repeat that." Oscar says. 

"Thank you." The girl whispers.

"Thank me in your silence." He says, before turning the corner to the waiting cherry red car.

"You did it?" His superior asks. He nods. Everyone in the car pat his back and gives him words of praise; he looks over his shoulder. The girl staggers out of the alleyway, holding herself under the streetlights. She's sobbing to herself quietly before falling to her knees.

He looks away.


	2. Big Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar meets the girl he saved in AP Chemistry.

Cesar is at a loss for words.

Oscar met his girlfriend...over a murder.

"After that, I didn't think I'd see her again," Oscar says, cracking open another beer. Cleo twirls a braid with her finger, looking at her empty bowl.

"Yeah, it took me...months of therapy to deal with that. I was, and still am, traumatized over it. Developed a phobia of guns." She says with a sad chuckle. The light in her eye dims. 

"So..when did you see her again?" Cesar asks. Cleo and Oscar look at each other and back at Cesar.

"AP Chem." They said in unison.

 

**Nine Years Ago**

"Chemistry, is..." Mr. Coleman writes on the white board with his marker, "the study of change."

Oscar is jotting down notes, straining to see from the back of the class. By the grace of his academic reputation he's moved into all AP classes, which is going to look promising on his college transcripts. His pencil moves through the paper, his highlighter coming right behind to mark the notes that he knows will be on the test next week. 

"Today we'll be covering-"

The door swings open with a loud creak.

He hears footsteps; the loud heels of Principal Rodriguez and the quiet shuffle of...

He looks up and what he sees nearly makes him drop his pencil.

It's the girl he saved a year ago, her posture hunched over and her head down. She's clutching her backpack like a lifeline, clearly uncomfortable with the situation at hand. She's dressed like someone's grandmother: floor-length blue skirt, a crisp white blouse tucked inside it and a fuzzy brown cardigan she hides into like a turtle shell. Her hair is flat-ironed and pulled back with a white headband; small gold hoop earrings catch the overhead lights. He sees, tucked underneath the collar, was the necklace he'd snatched from her mugger. It's a cross, the ones that look like it cost a pretty penny to buy, not the cheap shit you get at a kiosk. 

"Class," Principal Rodriquez announces, "I'd like to introduce our new student into the fold. Cleopatra Washington." 

The girl looks up, she scans the room and bites her lip.

"Hi. My name is Cleopatra, but I like to be called...Cleo." She says, not making eye contact. 

"Well," Mr. Coleman looks at her and goes back to the board. 

"Cleo, grab a seat in the back. You'll be seated next to Mr. Diaz since that is the only seat available. In the back. Hurry, we gotta hit the ground running." 

The girl walks to his desk and they lock eyes. For what felt like minutes, the girl's eyes widen and she has a look of absolute horror.

"It's you," she whispers. She clutches the cross around her neck so tight her knuckles are white.

"Have no idea what you're talking about," he replies coolly, underlining his notes with his pencil. 

"Today, Ms. Washington!" Mr. Coleman barks at the girl. She plops herself into the seat next to his and clasps her hands, staring at the board. Her body sits upright, trying to make herself look larger and intimidating, but from the vibrating cross against her crisp white blouse he knows she's scared.

"You...you _murdered_ someone. And left me there to _deal with it_." She whispers, her voice low enough for him to hear.

"If I were you, I'd not talk about something like this in public. Especially in class." 

She bristles at the statement. 

"How do you sleep at night?" She asks. Oscar drops his pencil, swoops in so his nose is touching hers, looks her in the eye and says, _"like a fucking baby."_

She shrinks back, crosses herself with her fingers and mutters, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."

Oscar rolls his eyes and goes back to his notes.

 

~~~

"Mr. Diaz, you are quite the star pupil." 

Oscar smirks. Mr. Coleman is wiping his glasses.

"Highest GPA in the school, taking all AP Classes and might even become a valedictorian. You are my absolute favorite student."

"Thank you, Mr. Coleman. I really appreciate it." Oscar says. He fiddles with his fingers; he doesn't do well with flattery.

"Well, I didn't call you in during lunch just to butter your biscuit, but, I'm here to talk about our new student."

"What about her?" Oscar asks. He takes a seat at one of the empty seats.

"Cleo is a transfer student from Saint Peter, the Christian private school? She transferred here and get this...she's fourteen."

"Fourteen? She's...how is she taking AP Chem, this is exclusively for Junior-"

"-Their education is a little more advanced. More funding. She's much more advanced than most public school kids her age; she's skipped two grades already. She's a Junior, with you guys, taking all AP classes meant for Juniors _and_ Seniors."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Well here's the thing. She's new, and she's young, so people are going to give her a hard time. I'm asking you to...be a good influence for her. Be her mentor of sorts." 

"Mr. Coleman, I got a little brother at home, I don't know if I can-"

"Think of her as...a little sister that needs guidance to stay on the right path. You're smart, you're quiet, you don't get into trouble and you actually have a future, compared to these...knuckleheads who get into gangs and ruin their lives. Please, just...make sure she doesn't wind up pregnant and stupid before her school year is over? It's really important."

"How do I even go about it...?"

"Just help her with her homework, do after-school study sessions if you can, hell...take her to prom if you want. Just be her _friend_. She's going to have a hard time making friends as it is. She's a little..."

"Religious?"

"I do admire your ability for tact, Mr. Diaz."

"I'll see what I can do, Mr. Coleman."

"Thank you. I know I can count on you, Mr. Diaz. You are Freeridge's finest after all."

~~~

The next day, here comes his... _little sister_. She's wearing something more modern; jeans, black and white sneakers, another white blouse, and that fuzzy brown cardigan. Her flat-ironed hair is parted in a way that frames her face and is tucked behind her ears. 

She takes a seat next to him, doesn't make eye contact, just stares straight ahead. That's fine by him; he goes through his day as usual, taking notes, asking questions, answering questions. The only difference is he sneaks glances over at Cleo. She's in her own zone, her pencil moving but he knows she's not writing. 

She's _drawing_. 

She's drawing flowers, animals, gardens and even a doodle of Jesus. By the time class is over, she leaves that sheet of paper and slinks out of class without saying so much as a word. Oscar snatches the paper and tucks it into his desk. 

Next day, she does it again. Day after that, like clockwork, she leaves behind sketches and doodle-ridden pages of lined paper that Oscar steals when no one was looking. This went on for two weeks until the day of the test. 

He watches her face as Mr. Coleman hands her the test, trying to see her sweat. 

Blank. 

In less than twenty minutes since the test started, she stands, grabs her test, and gives it to Mr. Coleman, and goes back to her desk to pull out a notebook. 

How in the hell could she finish the test that quickly? She'd been doing nothing but doodling for the past two weeks!

The bell rings. Oscar is done with his test. He hands it to Mr. Coleman and before he could grab his backpack, he sees Cleo leave a sheet of paper on his desk and walks away into the sea of students. 

He grabs the paper.

It's a smiley face that says, "God Bless You". 

Against his better judgment, he keeps it.

~~~

Tests came back over the weekend. Oscar gets an A, of course. 

"Dammit, man. I should've studied with you." his classmate, Chuey gripes. He holds up his test. A large red C- mars his paper. His other classmate, Kimberly, walks up and sits on his desk. 

"Forget about it, man. Oscar's solo. I've been trying to study with him since AP English." She says. She brandishes her test. A solid B, written in green marker. While Chuey and Kimberly chatter, Oscar looks to his left. Cleo is sitting, doodling away, her test bearing an A+ mark. 100%. Perfect score. With a happy face drawn to seal the deal. 

"Why don't you study with her?" Oscar juts his thumb over to Cleo. Chuey and Kimberly look at her paper and gasp.

"100%. Dude, She might be coming for your record, Oscar!" Kimberly snatches Cleo's paper and holds it up against the light. Cleo rises up and tries to snatch her paper away, but Kimberly is too tall; her long arms damn near touch the ceiling. 

"Give it back. Please. I don't like people touching my things." Cleo says, but her voice is too quiet. Too meek. 

It pisses Oscar off.

"Come on, man. How did you get 100%? You know how hard this shit is?" Kimberly asks. Cleo, tries to jump and grab at her paper, but it's not working. 

"Please, give it back!" Cleo says with more volume, pawing at Kimberly's arm. Kimberly scrunches her face and hands Cleo her test. 

"Here. It's not that serious for you getting booty tickled about it."

"I don't like people touching my things without asking."

Kimberly gives her a look Oscar knows all too well. 

Kimberly found a new target. 

~~~

Oscar goes through his classes in a haze until he stops at AP Chemistry. He knows for a fact some shit is going down.

He takes his seat, pulls out his notebook, and gets ready for the lesson. Today they're working with chemicals and because of the seating, Cleo is his partner, much to his annoyance. He'd rather work on it alone. 

Cleo joins him shortly after; she's swapped the fuzzy brown cardigan for a dark green one to go with her light blue jeans and creamsicle-orange shirt that does nothing to flatter her shape. Her hair is in a ponytail this time, a velvet red scrunchie visible when she turns her head. 

"You got the notes for the project?" She asks him. She's tapping her foot on the linoleum, biting her lip. She's wearing tinted lip gloss this time.

"Yeah. You got the..."

Cleo digs into her backpack and pulls out beakers and flasks, wrapped up like they were bought from the store.

"Good. Together we should get an easy A." Oscar says. Cleo nods her head in agreement.

The project was simple; make a few calculations, pour Chemical A into Flask B, mix Chemical A with Chemical B and document the reaction. Cleo does the math while Oscar measures the chemicals' weights and properties. The two work in fluid motion, mixing and pouring, rattling off questions and giving answers. Everything seems to be going well, until Oscar hears a blood-curdling scream and he turns around.

Cleo's hair is catching fire, and she's swatting at the flames to make it stop. It's getting too close to her scrunchie; if it reaches her scalp, she's fucked. She runs to the sink, but trips over someone's flask and falls, hunched over the sink, her head dangerously close to the nozzle. If she tripped any closer the shit would've impaled her. she turns on the water frantically and the water drenches her hair. The classroom smells like burnt hair, contaminating the project. All everyone could do was watch in shock as the new girl is dousing her head in water to kill the flames. 

Cleo yanks her head away from the sink, drenched in water. Everything from the waist-up is soaked; Oscar could see her white bra and her nipples poking through her shirt. As if on cue, her cardigan slides off her like second skin and plops to the ground with a sickening squelch. 

The class erupts in gasps and then, silence. Oscar sees what they're seeing and freezes.

Her arms, exposed to the world, are littered with cuts. Deep ones, some of them fresh and bleeding.

Cleo looks at the crowd, and back at her arms, and the look of shame is so evident on her face it's uncomfortable. 

"That's why she wears those ugly ass cardigans." one of the students whispers.

Cleo, slipping and sliding against the wet floor, gains her footing, backs away from the judging eyes, and runs out of the classroom in tears.

The class erupts in a multitude of reactions: some laugh, some gossip, others are poking at the abandoned soaked cardigan with their pencils. Oscar does none of those things. Instead, he looks at Kimberly, who's expression is guilty. He catches her slide the lighter into her jacket pocket and slink out of the commotion to leave the classroom.

~~~

Cleo hasn't been in class for almost a month and people talk. Some say she went back to the private school she came from, others say she went to a mental hospital, someone even said she killed herself. One thing that was constant in all of the rumors; the cuts on her arms.

Word about her being a cutter spread like wildfire and it was when Cleo finally showed her face with a very short afro she was met with people calling her "The Cutter". 

She sits next to Oscar, looking at her desk with horror. There, scrawled in sharpie, are the words, "Cutter Cleo". 

She leaves the classroom in tears again.

Oscar pays a friend of his to clean that word off her desk two days later.

~~~

"You coming to class today or are you going to hide in the boy's bathroom again? I need to take a piss." Oscar asks.

"It's none of your business." Cleo says through the bathroom stall. She'd been crying again. 

"It kind of is. We're lab partners, remember? If you don't show up, I got to do twice the work and it's a pain in my ass." 

"That's not a problem for you. You're the lone wolf."

"Goddammit, Cleo. I don't got time for this shit. You're going to have to suck it up and go to class. I'm not getting my grade dragged down because you're oversensitive."

"They burned my hair and called me crazy because of...you know."

"Well you did the shit to yourself. They didn't ask you to slice and dice your arm."

"Go... _eff_ yourself!"

"Say _fuck_ , Cleo. Your squeaky-clean cuss words irk me more than the actual cuss words. That's part of why everyone doesn't like you. You're a fucking goody-goody two-shoes who is also a judgmental religious freak. Who _cuts herself_. A fucking paradox."

"What have I ever _done to you_ to have you be so gosh darn _mean_?"

"You called me a murderer and I saved your life, you ungrateful _bitch_." Oscar grits out, smacking the bathroom stall.

"I could've let you die. Could've let you get your brains splatter on the fucking ground but I saved your life. I saved your life and you have the nerve to turn your nose up at _me_? Calling me a _murderer_? You should be on your _knees_ , thanking me. If I wasn't around, you'd be having _cheese and crackers_ with Jesus right now you _Bible-thumping_ , grandma dressing, Ned Flanders acting _pushover_!"

The bathroom stall swings open. Cleo stands, eyes red from tears, inhaling sharply, her hands balling into fists. 

"Oh, you mad? Huh? I hurt your little feelings?" Oscar laughs in her face. He pushes her back into the stall and slams the door shut. He pushes her again, her falling back on the toilet seat. 

"You think I give a fuck about your feelings, babygirl? Huh?" He says in her face, grabbing her cheeks and squeezing with one hand. 

"You're fucking _weak_. Always quick to run away from your problems and cry in the bathroom like a fucking coward. You think you doing this shit is going to make them _stop_? Huh?" 

He squeezes tighter, his nails digging into her skin. She jerks against his grip and he only tightens it. She sobs under his grip, fresh tears soaking his hand. 

"Your tears don't do shit for me, sweetheart. They're only making me angrier because now, I'm missing class over this shit-"

She slaps him in the face. He rubs his reddening cheek and chuckles.

"That all you got?" he asks. She slaps him again, adding extra force. 

"I hate you." She says. Oscar leans in, his lips pressed against her ear.

"That makes two of us."

Oscar lets her out of the stall. She storms off, slamming the door behind her hard enough to make the wall shake.

He washes his hands and sees a large red mark on his cheek where Cleo slapped him. 

He touches the mark and feels a ghost of a smile tug at his lips.

~~~

Cleo comes to class the next day with a new look and a new demeanor. She wears high-waisted jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt and a camouflage jacket. Her afro is replaced with black braids that fall to her waist. She sits at her desk without even acknowledging his presence, seeing her nickname still on her desk and ignoring that too. 

Her posture is straightened, her head held high and her eyes are filled with spite. 

He observes her. She isn't doodling; she's writing notes and asking questions. Even her voice is changed; it's louder, a little bass put into it. Class is over and he turns to leave and he sees her walking to Kimberly, and without warning, Cleo slaps her across the face. The slap was so loud everyone two classes over could hear it. 

"You owe me a... _fucking_ apology for burning my hair, bitch! I know it was you!" She shouts, grabbing Kimberly by her shirt. Her face twists into such rage, such hatred, Oscar knows it's some of that hostility towards him as well as the people that'd made her school year miserable.

Before Cleo could get another strike in, Kimberly hits her back and the two are caught up in a fight. Kimberly may be taller than Cleo, but Cleo is stronger; she's throwing slaps and punches sloppily and the ones that land are the ones doing damage. By the time security gets a hold of them, Cleo has a swollen jaw and scratches on her chin while Kimberly got a blackening eye and a busted lip. The two are dragged away while Oscar is frozen. 

Cleo never lost eye contact with him as she's being dragged away, and he knew.

He's next.

~~~

Cleo got suspended for fighting for two weeks and came back with people steering clear of her. No one talks to her but they do talk _about_ her. One thing was certain. 

They left her alone.

~~~

Oscar was dealt with the task of making sure Cleo is caught up in her classes, much to the insistence of Mr. Coleman. He'd prefer he just drop off the assignments at Cleo's place but he doesn't know where Cleo lives and frankly doesn't want to. They're not friends.

Instead, Cleo is coming over to his place, which is fine with him. Cesar is at Abuelita's, his mother is off...doing who knows what, so the place is to himself. Not that it mattered. 

Cleo comes to his place on the dot, backpack filled with books and her face healing from the fight. She locks eyes with him, inhales a sharp breath, and walks inside. 

"Make yourself comfortable. But leave your shoes at the door. Just mopped." Oscar tells her. Cleo slides off her shoes and walks over to the couch and lays there.

"What did I miss?" Cleo asks.

"Nothing important, honestly. Just a midterm study guide and some chapters that can be covered in his YouTube videos." Oscar answers.

"When is the midterm?"

"Tomorrow."

"Oh goodness. They suspend me and the day I come back I have a whole day to study for a test." 

"You've been coasting with an A so far, this should be easy for you." 

"It's a midterm. They might...throw a curveball or something."

"That's why we're going over everything with a fine-toothed comb."

The conversation dies after that. The two are going over everything in Oscar's study guide. 

Through the silence, Oscar coughs. 

"I think a lot of people respect you for what you did. Didn't think you had it in you." He says. Cleo's pencil stops mid-stroke.

"I didn't do it for you. I did it for me." She says. 

"You sure? Because if it wasn't for me punking you you'd be in the bathroom still crying."

Cleo throws her pencil.

"You know what? Can we just study and not talk about that? I did what I did because I wanted respect. I hate to burst your bubble, but my parents helped me get the confidence to stand up for myself. With or without you, I was going to stand on my own two feet and demand my respect. So you can stop with this...savior complex." She walks over to Oscar and gets on her knees in front of him.

"Oh, Oscar," She says in a high-pitched tone, "thank you for saving my life by killing someone else right in front of me and causing me to get therapy 'till I'm thirty-five! Oh, my hero!" She collapses to the ground with her hand on her head.

"My hero, saving little ol' me, the damsel in distress!" She moans. She stands up, crossing her arms.

"Have I stroked your ego enough? Did I thank you enough so you can stop lording that over my head?"

"Don't act cute. You brought it up. You could've forgotten about it-"

"I was covered in that man's blood and brain matter. You left me there, _alone_ , with a dead body when it was dark and cold. You left me alone to deal with that...by _myself_. I get scared of seeing a dead body in a casket but a dead body that died? _In front of me_? Do you know what that did to me?" Her eyes are wide now. 

"And the fact that you go about your life, like it doesn't phase you that you killed someone. I cry when I step on a bug but _you_?" She points his finger in his chest, "It's like...it's _nothing_ to you. You _killed someone_ and it's no different than... _swatting a fly_ for you. That's... _unnerving_. I feel like...even if I wasn't there... _you would've killed him anyway_." 

The moment of truth. Oscar looks at her, clenching his jaw.

"You're not wrong. He was someone I needed to kill. I had to, and you happen to be collateral." He confesses.

"You didn't save me out of the kindness of your heart." Cleo accuses.

"I watched the whole thing unfold. I could've just waited until he put a bullet in you but _I didn't_."

"Why?"

"Because you're _innocent_. You were some...gullible kid that was about to lose your life over a _piece of jewelry_. I wasn't going to let you die because you did nothing wrong but be at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"It was my grandmother's. She gave it to me before she died and that's all I have left of her."

"In that situation, it doesn't matter. If you want to live, you hand it over. You give them everything they ask for because that's your only chance of making it home alive."

"I told you, my grandmother-"

"-your grandmother wouldn't have wanted you to die over something you can replace." 

She pauses.

"...Thank you." She says after the silence. She means it this time. 

"We're past that, now. We hate each other, remember?" Oscar deadpans.

"I said that because I was mad. I don't hate you. I just think you're...an asshole."

"Where's the squeaky-clean cuss words?"

"There's no other way to describe you."

"Pig-headed, brutish, intimidating, quiet, intelligent," Oscar lists off with his fingers.

"I'll stick with 'asshole'. Only two syllables." Cleo counters, holding up two fingers. Oscar snorts and goes back to his study guide.

"Fair enough,"


	3. Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleo and Oscar's relationship starts with church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (12/7/18 Edit): I deleted the church scene because I'm just now figuring out the kinks and the story of Cleo's relationship with Oscar and how it starts.

**Present**

Night fell. 

Oscar and Cleo have already washed and set the dishes and are now on the couch, watching a movie in relative silence, a blanket thrown over them for warmth. Oscar tosses his arm around her and pulls her closer, his fingers stroking circles into her shoulder. 

Cesar feels out of place, like a third wheel, despite the two insisting it's not a problem at all he's there. Even with their insistence, he still feels awkward, especially seeing this new side of his brother.

Oscar's not intense and scary like Cesar's used to; he's calm, eyebrows lacking the arch of stress and intimidation. His body is sinking into the couch and molding with Cleo's. He even laughs; there was a scene in the movie that was intended to be funny and he gave a hearty guffaw compared to Cleo and Cesar's polite chuckles. 

When the movie ends, Cleo disentangles herself from Oscar and stands.

"What's up?" Oscar asks.

"It's getting late. I have to go." she answers.

"It's already late. You leaving from here isn't safe at this hour. Just stay the night." Oscar stands and stretches. He tosses the blanket to Cleo and walks down the hallway.

"I got church in the morning," Cleo calls after him.

When the door closes, she turns to Cesar with an apologetic smile.

"Guess I'll be spending the night," She says. Oscar comes out and chucks something to Cesar.

"Here's some earplugs, Lil Spooky," Oscar says.

"She's going to snore like a lawnmower." 

Cleo scoffs and throws a couch pillow at him.

~~~

Cesar finds himself in the dead of night, flipping through a photo album tucked away in the hallway closet between old comforter sets and pillows. It caught his eye because of the vibrant colors and the photo of his Abuelita tucked into the binding.

He hadn't seen this photo album since he was eight; he'd seen Oscar put photos and obituaries inside but never learned what the photos and obituaries were of. 

His fingers scan over photos of his mother, before she died. She's smiling at him in one photo, she's smearing cake on Oscar's face for his birthday the next. Cesar bites back tears when he stops on the obituary of his Abuelita and moves on to another photo. 

"What are you doing up?"

Cesar jumps and turns his head.

Oscar, wearing nothing but pajama pants and a tank top, walks over to him with a carton of orange juice clutched in his hand. 

"I should ask you the same thing." Cesar retorts. He shuts the photo album closed and puts it back where he found it.

Oscar plucks the photo album and opens it. 

He chuckles at one of the photos. 

"That's me on the last day of AP Chemistry. All honors." He says, pointing to the photo. It's a younger Oscar, holding up his gold medal.

"I was gonna be valedictorian." He adds, holding the photo with a look Cesar can't describe.

"What happened?" Cesar asks.

"Had to drop out."

**January, 2010**

Oscar bounces on one leg, watching Mr. Coleman write his recommendation letter.

"Well, this is it. I can honestly say, it's been a wild ride with you. You have made me proud." Mr. Coleman says with a smile. Oscar takes the recommendation letter with shaky hands.

"Thank you, Mr. Coleman. It's...it's been an honor." Oscar says, ignoring the cracking of his voice. 

"Do good, Mr. Diaz." Mr. Coleman says, shaking his hand. 

He leaves the classroom, all six class recommendations in his possession, and can't stop himself from smiling. 

He's going to go to college in the Fall; everything is lined up and all he have to do is...

His phone rings.

"Hello?" He asks.

"You need to come to the hospital. It's Abuelita." 

"What?" Oscar replies. 

Dial tone. 

Cold water washes over him. 

Something isn't right.

Where is Cesar?

~~~

Oscar holds his head in his hands, listening to the rhythmic beats of the heart monitor. The doctor stands, eyeing him with sympathy, turns back to his clipboard. His aunt Reina enters the hospital room, Cesar holding on to her hand. 

"Oh, Oscar!" Aunt Reina cries, pulling him into an embrace with Cesar smooshed between them.

"How...what happened, tia?" Oscar asks. His aunt kneels down to Cesar and strokes his face.

"Baby, why don't you go out into the waiting room with your tio Manny? He's got lots of sweets for you." She says. Cesar nods his head and runs out of the hospital room. Aunt Reina turns to face Oscar and clasps a hand on his shoulder.

"Abuelita...fell while she was playing with Cesar and... _she stopped breathing_." 

"Oh, God, no..."

"Baby...I think we're going to... _let her go_."

"You can't be saying-"

"That's what she would've wanted, honey. She wouldn't want to be hooked up to machines for the rest of her life. And...we can't afford the hospital bills that come with keeping her in that state. We're gathered here...to say goodbye."

"No, No...what about Cesar-"

"-I'm sorry, but...Cesar has to be with his mother."

"You know good and well Mom is not-"

"-What do you want me to do? I got _four kids_ and Manny and I work non-stop. I don't have any room or time to look after Cesar and you know it."

"Auntie, you can't. I'm about to go to _college_ , I can't just... _leave_ Cesar here with Mom. You might as well let him watch and raise himself."

"I'm sorry, but...there's nothing I can do. If your ain't shit father was around-"

"-Don't bring him up."

"I'm sorry. You're just gonna have to do the best you can. I did it, Abuelita did it, you're going to have to do it too. You don't have a choice." 

And she's gone.

Oscar sits at his grandmother's bedside, clenching his fists into his shirt, trying to regulate his breathing. He feels the tears come but he sucks them back. He looks at Abuelita's unconscious body and whispers,

_"I hate you."_

 

**February, 2010**

"Cesar! Come on, you got to get ready for school." Oscar hollers after his little brother, who's running around the living room wearing his pajamas.

"I am ready for school!" Cesar replies. Oscar shakes his head.

"No you not. What about the clothes I laid out for you?" He asks.

"I don't like those clothes."

"You're wearing those clothes, baby brother. Now get dressed. I don't have time for this."

"Bu-"

"-NOW, CESAR."

Cesar flinches at this, eyes welling up in tears and runs to his room crying. Oscar runs his hands over his face, taking deep breaths. 

His mother is strung out on the couch, nodding off. 

Oscar hid the drugs in the pantry so Cesar won't see them and his mother won't use in front of him. It doesn't make the visual less depressing; he hates seeing his mother like this. 

She's humming to herself, some song from the past he can't quite remember. 

"You're my good son," she hums, trying to reach for his face and falling face first to the floor, "my good son."

Cesar comes out, dressed in the clothes Oscar laid out the night before. He looks at his mother and back at his older brother.

"What happened to Mommy?" He asks.

"Fell asleep." Oscar answers.

~~~

He drops off Cesar and finds himself back at home. His mother went off to who knows where and it's just him and the stack of recommendation letters. 

He holds them in trembling fingers, trying to blink the tears away. 

His future, his dreams, the fantasy of his own restaurant...

Turning his head, he rips the recommendation letters to shreds, one by one. He rips and tears until they're like confetti, with sprinkles of words that sting. 

_"...good kid."_

He feels his eyes burn.

_"...has a bright future..."_

His throat wells up.

_"...honor to have him in my class..."_

He halts himself. After dumping the scraps into the trash can, he feels the tears coming and finally lets them. 

He holds his head in his hands and cries.

**Present**

 _Go to church with me,_ she says. _It'll be good for you guys,_ she says.

Cesar fans himself, his clothes sticking to his body like fly paper. His brother is in the same boat, puffing out his shirt and wiping sweat from his brow. Cleo is unfazed, eyes focused on the bishop whose shouting at the congregation. 

The shouting, the women fainting, the prayer dances that have Cesar both fascinated and scared; all of it proof that he and Oscar don't belong. He feels extra out of place when people flip through thick Bible pages to find this scripture or that verse; he never knew there'd be that many rules and answers to life's questions. 

The bishop teaches about forgiveness and self-love, met with so many 'Amen's and 'Praise God's it morphs into one word. Cleo soaks it all in like a sponge, fanning herself with her Bible and raising her hand to touch the ceiling. She shouts encouragement through every song, every word, and then there comes a point in church that throws Cesar off.

"We'd like to introduce our new visitors to our humble church. Please stand!"

Eyes are on him and his brother. 

Of course it's them; him and Oscar are the only pale faces in a sea of blacks and browns. It doesn't help that Oscar, with his tattoos and his permanent scowl, had the gall to wear his shades in church, looking more intimidating than normal. 

"Please don't be afraid, brothers! We are all one color, one love, under the blood and flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ!" The bishop offers to them. Churchgoers goad Cesar, patting his shoulder. Grandmothers old enough to be his smile at him under their brightly-colored church hats, their eyes making him feel guilty. 

He stands and is met with applause and cheers. 

"What are you doing?" Oscar hisses in his ear.

"I have to get up there or they won't stop." He replies, walking up to the podium behind a few other newcomers. One of them is a classmate of his, bouncing an infant on her hips. After what felt like forever, he's up on the stage, the blinding lights making him hotter than normal. The choir continues to sing, the gentle taps of the drums make his heart beat relax. The bishop walks to him, puts his hand on his shoulder, and asks,

"What's your name, son?"

"Cesar." He answers thinly, biting his lip. 

"Don't fear us, Brother Cesar. We are all family here. Welcome." He says. He hugs Cesar; he smells like the cologne old men get from the kiosk, but it's not overbearing. In a blink, it's over. Cesar walks off the stage, the applause and pats on the back from strangers calling him "brother" feeling a little too personal and uncomfortable. He sits down and when he looks up, he sees Oscar march up to the podium.

"What is your name, son?" The bishop asks him. 

"Spooky." Oscar deadpans. 

"Welcome, Brother Spooky. We are family here." 

The bishop opens his arms to hug Oscar, but he shakes his head, giving the bishop fair warning before walking off the stage. 

Cleo hides her face in her bible.

"Lord Hammercy." She mutters.

Oscar sits at his rightful spot next to Cleo, throwing his arm around her shoulder.

The grandmothers in their church hats whisper among themselves, sneaking glances at them.

Cesar sinks deeper into the pew.

~~~

They'd been in the church for what felt like eight hours. By the time the bishop dismissed them, Cesar himself was saying, "Praise God". 

He ran out the church to bright sunshine and fresh crisp air and almost gets on his knees to kiss the ground. Oscar and Cleo catch up to him, Cleo waving and smiling at the churchgoers, making small chat about the sermon.

"So," she starts off, "would you consider going back?" 

"You kidding me? No! I don't even know why-" Cesar is cut off when Cleo hands him a napkin with something in it. Unwrapping it, it's a lemon bar. His weakness. He bites into it, his tastebuds singing.

"Oh my god, this is delicious..." He hums. Cleo holds up another.

"Sister Esther made them this morning. After every service, there's a luncheon. All the food you can eat." She says. 

"Is that the main reason people come here?" Oscar asks.

"Partly. I like to think of it as-"

"-Bribery?"

" _-Incentive_ to keep coming. You get to fill your spirit with the Word while filling your stomach with good food. Everybody wins." Cleo finishes. Oscar fishes out a cigarette and crams it into his mouth. 

"I ain't going. Cesar, do what you want. I got some shit to take care of."

Cleo frowns.

"Having brunch with free food with your brother could be just what you need..."

"What I need is for you to get off my ass trying to convert me."

"I have not tried to convert you-"

"-You have. You've been doing it since..."

"...We will _not_ have this conversation where Sister Nita is within earshot. You _know_ she nosy as all hell!"

"You know what? Fuck this. Y'all go on. I'll be home late."

"Oscar-"

He already slammed his car door shut. When he pulls off, Cleo turns away from the parking lot and heads back inside the church, Cesar chasing after her.


	4. Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar finds a solution for the pain.

Cesar was in his bed drifting off to sleep when the slamming door makes him jump. 

Through the walls, he hears Oscar's quiet voice intercepted by Cleo's screaming. He can't pinpoint exactly what's being said, but what he does pick up was Cleo saying along the lines of. " _...make a fool out of me again...piece of shit... you never change...just like you were in high school...don't you fucking touch me!_ " 

Furniture is being knocked over. The screaming of both of their voices hit a crescendo and then...

Silence. 

He then hears crying. 

Oscar is talking, but it's so quiet Cesar wonders if he imagined hearing Oscar. Whatever Oscar is saying it's making the crying stop. Even a light chuckle escapes.

Silence again. 

Cesar is about to go back to sleep when he hears moaning. _Loud_ moaning. 

The tell-tale squeak of bed-springs makes his ears hot. He tries to cover his ears with the pillow but the walls vibrate beside him; the bed-frame next door is smacking against the wall.

The noises are happening non-stop, escalating into where Cesar thinks she's being murdered. He's not getting any sleep and he needs to get ready for a quiz tomorrow...

Just when he thinks there's no end, the noises hit a high, strangled note and it's over. The squeaking stops, the moaning stops, and all he hears is mumbled conversation.

He looks at the clock. 

They'd been at it for an hour and a half.

God, Oscar needs to soundproof his room.

~~~

The morning after was awkward, to say the least.

Cleo had been long-gone and it's just the two brothers. Oscar is helping himself to the last pieces of bacon and toast while Cesar is staring into his mug of now-cold coffee.

"Did you know I was here last night?"

"Yeah. Did I give a fuck? No." he answers, grabbing Cesar's mug and taking a sip.

"Gross, man!" Cesar grimaces.

"You're a man now, Lil' Spooky. Shit like this shouldn't faze you."

"How did you even...become a thing?"

"Easy," Oscar starts. He downs the coffee in one gulp, "an experiment."

~~~

**June 2010**

Oscar sits on the couch, enjoying the rotating fan blowing air. Cleo is sitting across from him, jotting something down in her notebook. She's wearing thick black braids that are pulled into a ponytail by a cotton headband, her face slick with sweat. She's wearing a tank top and a jean skirt that is way too long for the summer, legs stretched out on the couch.

He watches her, mind racing a mile a minute.

He'd killed someone the night before, shot him right between the eyes without even flinching. Normally it wouldn't phase him, until he'd seen a wide-eyed child watching him. That boy...he looked like Cesar, all the way down to the dinosaur pajamas he'd stolen for him last Christmas. 

Those eyes are haunting him, boring into his soul and filling him with dread and guilt.

What if that child comes back for revenge? What if the next time it'd be _him_ getting gunned down and it's right in front of Cesar...

Cleo's lips are moving but no sound is coming out; all he hears is the blood curdling cries of that little boy over the father _he_ killed... 

The cries turn into white noise, hurting his ears and making his world spin.

Cleo's mouth stops moving. She's eyeing him, inching closer to him. She smells like coconuts and jasmine, her shaky hand reaching up to touch him. She's approaching him like zookeeper tending to a skittish animal, one that'll tear out someone's throat with the snap of their jaws. He can't help but feel like one when that timid hand lands on his neck; her hands are surprisingly cool in this hot weather, her expression a mix of hesitation and concern. She's rubbing his neck and sliding to rest on his shoulder.

She leans in closer, her body so close to him she's almost straddling his leg. 

"Are you okay?" She asks. 

He should say no, tell her to fuck off and get out of his house. But her hand feels so good on his skin, she smells nice, and when did she feel so soft...

He grabs her hand. 

The white noise has since been gone, but he hears his heartbeat pound through his ears. 

He notices she's got small freckles and dark acne scars that mar her chin and the sides of her cheeks, her lips got a shine to them from Lipsmackers, no doubt, but he sees her eyes for the first time in a long time.

Brown, doe-like eyes that speak of purity. They're trusting, pure...

 _Gullible_.

He kisses her. She squeaks and jerks herself away.

"What the heck was that?" She asks. 

He licks his lips. Strawberry-flavored. Of course.

"Oscar, what the heck was-"

He leans in and kisses her again. This time, she doesn't pull away. She melts into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. They engage in a clumsy liplock, Cleo's lipgloss smearing all over Oscar's cheeks. When they pull away, Cleo averts her eyes and turns away, squirming in her seat and rubbing her palms. 

"Why'd you kiss me?" She ask. 

He licks the last of her lipgloss off his lips and says, 

"I don't know. You were there." 

She bristles at the comment. She grabs her things and walks out of Oscar's house with the soft click of the screen door.

~~~

That night, he lied in bed, remembering her lips on his. She tastes like toothpaste and strawberry Lipsmackers, a contrast from the alcohol-tinted lips of the around the way girls who'd whisper bullshit in his ear, hands pawing at his zipper. It reminds him of the first girl he'd kissed when he was in the fourth grade; her name was Blanca. He'd kissed her under the jungle gym the day before summer vacation broke out; she wore watermelon Lipsmackers instead of strawberry. He remembered stealing her lip gloss when she went away to Mexico for the summer and never came back, licking the applicator brush to get more of what she tasted like burned into his memory. 

Cleo tastes like...innocence, nostalgia, _sweetness_.

He can't stop licking his lips, that sugary aftertaste still on his tongue. 

Her lips are soft, tentative, and unsure; she lets him take control, didn't even protest when his tongue slid into her mouth to explore.

Fantasies of what her mouth could do for him makes his pants tighten. 

His hands slide to unbuckle his jeans.

Cleo'd never want someone like him; she's too much of a good girl to even entertain him. She's, from his understanding of her, the marriage type. The kind of girl that waits to have sex on their wedding night. Probably wears white cotton panties to bed and enjoys vanilla ice cream with the chocolate syrup if she's feeling adventurous. Plain, wholesome, safe, a contrast from what he's used to. 

He doesn't want her in that way, though. He doesn't want her as a _girlfriend_ ; she's not his type and being seen public with her as her... _boyfriend_...would be social suicide. But the idea of _fucking_ her, doing sinful things that good girls aren't supposed to do, it makes him hot under the collar.

The good girls are the easiest to corrupt.

As he pumps himself in rhythmic motion, he forms a plan.

~~~

Cleo doesn't come back to his house until days later. 

She's wearing a cotton white dress and cork wedge sandals that make that loud clop-ing noise whenever she walks. Her braids are down and fall against her back. That lipgloss is still on her lips. 

She sits across from him again, not making a sound. She's drawing something, lost in thought while Oscar studies her. He's wearing a black tank top and dark jean shorts, a contrast to Cleo's all-white ensemble.

The imagery isn't lost on Oscar.

"You're not going to come to my house and not talk to me." He says after fifteen minutes of silence. Cleo looks up.

"You never told me why...you kissed me." She says.

"What other reason can I give you? You were there, I felt like doing it. That's all there is to it."

Her face slips into disgust but quickly regains composure.

"Did you...feel anything?"

"Your lips felt...soft. You tasted nice and I could tell you've been flossing." 

"Thanks." She says flatly. She turns back to her drawing. He raises an eyebrow.

"Did _you_ feel something?" He asks her.

"Well...you were my first kiss. I thought you...like...I thought it was going to be like the tv shows where if you kiss the girl you want them to be _your_ girl."

He laughs. 

"This isn't Disney. The fuck?"

That knocked the rest of the wind out of her sails. She sinks her shoulders and almost melts into his couch. 

"Hey, hey...don't do that." He reprimands her.

"You were my first kiss." She says. She looks at him.

"I can't believe you didn't...feel anything."

"What did you feel?"

"Like my heart was about to leap out my chest and like I want to vomit."

"That's...far from Disney."

"You don't get it. It's...butterflies and your heart is beating so fast you're...dizzy. It's this...weird and euphoric feeling I can't really describe. I love that feeling. It makes me feel...happy. Wanted."

That peaks his interest. 

He gets into her personal space this time, hands clasped on each shoulder. When he leans in, his nose touching hers, he asks,

"You want more?"

Her eyes widen and she's biting her lips. After a pause, she whispers,

"Yes."

He kisses her again, her kissing back. Everything is going smoothly; she's moaning and wrapping her arms around his shoulders when he swoops to kiss at her neck. He slides his hand up her dress but she stops him when he reaches her thigh. He tries again but she stops him, this time with more force. Taking the hint, he pulls away.

"What's up?" He asks.

"I don't want to go this far. Not yet." She answers.

"Why not?"

She's sliding on her last shoe and making her way out the door and leaves.

~~~

She comes back the next day. She's wearing a white crop top and a peach maxi skirt that's hiked up to her upper stomach, giving a peek of skin. She's still self-conscious of her body; she wraps her arms around her somewhat exposed stomach like it's going to make the fat go away.

She sits next to him, hand gliding over to grab his. She looks up at him, biting her lips again. It's a tinted lip gloss this time; a red that's sheer enough for modesty, he guesses.

She gingerly kisses him, hands clasped on his shoulders. She's on his lap now, kissing him so timid-like he wants to just throw her on the couch and take control, but he's patient. He'll let her lead, he'll see how far she'll take it.

During their kissing, she gains a little more confidence; she's kissing deeper, slipping her tongue into his mouth and grinding on his hips. He grabs her ass and grinds back, making her moan. She moves to his neck and when she sinks her teeth into his neck he yelps and throws her off him.

"Fuck is wrong with you?" He demands, grabbing at his neck. He feels a wetness and prays it's just her spit. She stammers, scrambling up and muttering a string of apologies.

"I-I'm sorry, I thought that'd be a turn-on-"

"Are you a fucking vampire? Who bites the fuck out of someone's neck on the first try?"

"I told you I...I never kissed anyone before! I'm sorry!" She's ready to cry, eyes on the verge of tears. Oscar sees her and deflates his anger. 

"You want me to show you?" He asks her. He approaches her and moves a braid out of the way, exposing her neck. He looks at her for permission and she nods. Tilting her head, he lands kisses on her neck, giving flicks of his tongue on the spots that he knew from experience would make a girl weak in the knees. Like clockwork, Cleo's moaning and easing into his touch. He finds the spot where her neck and shoulder meets and he swoops in for the kill. 

Cleo's moans are louder now; she's digging her nails into his shoulder, panting his name like a mantra. 

He pulls away and observes her.

He knows that look, he knew it from the way she's holding on to him like a lifeline and squirming into his touch. 

"Want more?" He asks. He's sliding his hand up her skirt, pausing at the hem of her panties.

"Please." She sighs.

~~~

He watches her leave. He didn't do what he wanted just yet; a little fingering and hickeys never hurt anyone. She's at the door and pauses. She looks...ashamed. Like she wasn't screaming his name minutes before. Interesting.

He eyes her back, daring her to say something. 

She looks away, opens the door and leaves, her head down. 

**September, 2010**

"Oscar...Let's...go all the way." 

Oscar pokes his head from between her thighs and bites back a smirk. 

They'd been fooling around for months, now, each time Oscar escalating it to this point. Cleo had cum more times than he could count, her legs shaking with every kiss to her thigh. 

"You sure?" He asks her, but he knows what the answer already is before she even says it.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure. Please..."

He kisses her into silence and makes his way to his nightstand to pull out a condom. 

He's on top of her, kissing her neck and cheek.

"Is it gonna hurt?" She asks him. He chuckles against her neck.

"It's not supposed to. We can take it slow." He tells her. She nods. 

He eases inside and he almost cums right then and there. She feels amazing, accommodating him with every stroke. He checks on her to make sure Cleo is okay. She's eyeing him, her expression is of submission and need. 

"How you feel?" He pants out.

She's digging her nails into his back and she's moaning out his name in a way that has him biting into her neck.

He tries to make himself last but he can't; he's speeding up is thrusts until he's fucking her into the mattress, the springs squeaking for mercy. In record time, he cums with a startled grunt and collapses on her, panting against her neck. He looks up to face her.

She's...blank. Stone-faced. Disappointed.

_Fuck._

"So..." She starts off.

"This...is sex?"

"It's...not like this..."

"That was...quick..."

"It's not normally like this..."

"I didn't even...cum."

An awkward pause. Oscar dismounts and lies on his back, sliding off the condom. Cleo stays put, staring at his popcorn ceiling. 

"I should...go." She says.

"I could...finish you off..."

"No, no...I'll just...go home."

She gets out of the bed and puts on her clothes. Oscar's already put on his boxers and watches her get dressed. 

"I guess I'll...see you next time?" She asks. 

"You want a second time? I thought it wasn't good."

"It's...not good, but it's not bad either. It's like...cold pizza."

"Good to know you called my dick cold pizza."

"Well...maybe learn how to warm it up." 

She's buttoning the last strap of her jumper and straightens her beret. 

"So...see you." She says, before leaving his room. He walks out and she's already left his house.

"See you." He says to an empty room.

**Present**

"Sounds like the worst sex ever." Cesar gripes, though he knows it sounds like his first time with Monse. Oscar laughs.

"First times are always bad. But she came around, and we started fucking and trying new shit and...we found our rhythm. Find out she a undercover freak; she into some weird shit like choking and calling me Daddy. Wearing costumes and shit."

"Jesus, dude. TMI-"

"-One time I made her squirt on the couch. Right there in that spot." Oscar points to the seat Cesar is sitting in. He leaps up from the couch like he's been burned.

"I'm gonna go spend the night at Ruby's." Cesar calls out. 

Oscar laughs.

"I'm just fucking with you." He says.

"It was actually in your bed."


	5. The Nice Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar goes to jail for the first time; Cleo learns that sometimes the "nice guys" aren't so nice when she tries dating.

Oscar and Cesar sit on the couch, watching yet another DVD movie he bought out someone's trunk a few days prior. It's Revenge of the Nerds, and it's at the scene where Lewis Skolnick was revealed to be behind the Darth Vader costume after sleeping with the cheerleader.

“Did he...rape her?” Cesar grimaces. 

“How would it be rape?” Oscar asks. 

“I mean...the girl didn’t really like him and never would’ve had sex with him until after he pretended to be her boyfriend. That’s...technically rape by deception.”

“You take one class in political science at a community college and all of a sudden you one of those bra burners that think every little thing is rape.” Oscar rolls his eyes, crunching into his popcorn.

“Dude, think about it. He basically...raped her and for some reason it was taken as some kind of joke. If it was real life, that dude would’ve been in jail getting torn apart by a prisoner named Bubba—”

“—just watch the fucking movie.” Oscar says, snatching another handful of popcorn. Cesar raises an eyebrow.

“I’m just saying...dudes like that are kinda gross. We’re supposed to be rooting for them?”

“I get why this shit would be creepy, but calling it rape?”

“Also...a lot of sexual harassment. These good guys are literally doing shit that could land them sex offender charges.” 

“Wait...holy shit you’re right. These dudes are fucking perverts.”

Lewis gives his trademark laugh on the film, looking back at the brothers with a glint in his glasses.

“He’d be the type of dude I’d stomp out.” Oscar muses. 

October, 2010

Cleo lies in Oscar’s bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s throwing on his clothes.

“You gonna start getting dressed, or?” He asks. Cleo sighs and slides out of the bed.

“Oscar, I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what anymore?”

“This. This sex thing is getting old. I kinda want to date.”

“I’m not your man.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be my man.”

“That supposed to hurt my feelings?”

“No. Telling you you’re bad at sex is supposed to hurt your feelings.”

“Because it’s a lie.”

“Is it?”

“What do you know? I’m the only guy you slept with unless you lied.”

“Virgins can still know when sex is bad because...we know what an orgasm is. Some of us _masturbate_.” 

“Human dick don’t come with batteries, sweetheart.”

“And it sure doesn’t know what a clitoris is.” 

“You not getting yours is on you.” 

“So...my orgasm is all on me while you jackhammer into me and not even ask what gets me going?”

“Look, I don’t have time for this shit. You wanna stop this? Do it. Get your shit and go.”

“Gladly. The sex ain’t that good anyway.” 

“Right back at ya.”

“That why you finish in twenty minutes or less?”

Spooky pauses. Cleo is already tying the tie on her dress to hold it together. 

"Bitch." He snarls.

Cleo whips her head around, venom on her tongue.

"Fuck you." She spits. 

She slams his door shut. 

~~~

Cleo hasn't been coming around since their argument, which doesn't bother Oscar in the slightest. He'd gotten word that he's climbing up the ranks as a Santos; there's a chance he could be next in line to call the shots. 

He's at a party, drinking jungle juice and a cute girl with Sharpie eyebrows and a name he already forgot is grinding on his lap. She's whispering in his ear to go into the room in the back but he's glued to his chair.

Instead, he looks out into the window across from him.

It’s some unremarkable house with ugly yellow paint, glowing even in pitch darkness because the overhead lights shine over it. There’s a couple of kids, a boy and a girl, walking in his line of vision. The girl is clearly uncomfortable and is trying to be polite while the boy is trying to kiss her and grab at her. 

He squints and recognizes the girl. 

It’s Cleo. 

She’s wearing a dress and some heels; looks like she’d just gotten back from a date, given the boy is wearing a tuxedo.

They’re talking, or rather the boy is talking and leaning in to kiss her shoulders and cheeks. Oscar can’t quite make out the words because the music is loud and they’re worlds apart. 

It’s like watching a train wreck happen; Cleo isn’t interested but the boy won’t take a hint. When the boy grabs Cleo and forces his lips on to hers, disgust washes over Oscar. 

Cleo slaps the boy across the face and runs away, leaving the boy, under the overhead lights, holding his cheek in confusion. 

Whatever buzz Oscar had, that weasel ruined it. 

“I need you to do something for me.”

Oscar rises from his bed. Cleo’s fumbling with her hands, not making eye contact.

“I need you to tell this creep to leave me alone.”

“Not my problem.” Oscar replies. Cleo inhales sharply.

“I know that we got off on the wrong foot, but, I need your help. This guy I went on a date with…is a creep. He’s rude, he’s gross, and he won’t leave me alone. He follows me _everywhere_ and…” She bites her lip, “…he said some awful things. Horrible things. Things that no one should ever say to a lady of my stature.”

“Again…not my problem. What’s in it for me?”

“Oscar, would it kill you to have an ounce of compassion? I’m being _harassed_ and _stalked_ by a boy who thinks I’m his property after _one date_. You would think, given our history, you could do this one simple thing and that’s to tell a guy to back off.”

“Look, I don’t owe you shit. I saved your life and you paid me back by not snitching. Our history, with sex out of the equation, starts and stops there.”

“Aren’t you my _friend_?”

“I was _never_ your friend. We'll _never_ be friends. If it wasn’t for me saving you our paths would never have crossed and I wouldn’t give so much as a second thought.”

“Wow…you really are an asshole. Thanks for nothing.” 

“Unless you about to get on your knees and suck my dick,” Oscar gets in her face, “get the fuck out of my house.” 

Cleo spits on his cheek. Oscar pins her to the wall with one hand wrapped around her throat. 

“I don’t hit women,” He starts, “but you got me fucked up if you think you can just spit in my face and I won’t do nothing about it.”

"Now I get a reaction out of you when something directly affects you," Cleo grunts out, "cool."

"Look, whatever happens to you is between you and that weasel you sleep with-"

"-We never even _slept_ together. I don't sleep with just anyone."

"Could've fooled me."

She pauses. Her face twists into a look of pure disgust. 

"Wow...I didn't think you'd be this much of a... _piece of shit_." She whispers out the last bit. He releases her and she jerks away from him and heads for the door. She looks back at him.

"You know, when we had sex, I thought you'd be different, but you're just like the rest of the boys at that school: _sleazy_."

She closes the door with a soft click.

~~~

Oscar sits in his car, thumbing the steering wheel. His target just got out of school; he's talking amongst friends and he's cracking a joke that's fallen flat among his peers.

He's gross-looking; bushy eyebrows, greasy brown hair that hangs behind his ears, and a shit-eating grin that makes the hair on Oscar's neck stand up. He's wearing a Star Wars t-shirt, jeans, and some tattered Walmart sneakers. 

_What possessed Cleo to even agree on a date with this asshole?_

He's alone. Time to make his move.

"Hey," He hollers out after the boy. The boy whips his head around, zeroes in on Oscar and frowns.

"Can I help you?" The boy asks, crossing his arms. 

"You know a Cleo Washington?" Oscar asks. 

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

It's taking everything not to punch this little shit in his throat.

"Look, I'm not going to sugar-coat. She wanted me to tell you to leave her alone. She's not interested in you. So...fuck off." Oscar deadpans. The boy's eyes widen.

"She could've told me herself, not have some... _ese_ roll up on me and play messenger."

"Listen you pencil-dicked _fuck_ ," Oscar backs him into a gate. 

"Leave her alone. Understand?"

"Loud and clear." The boy squeaks out.

~~~

"It's been handled." 

"Excuse me?" Cleo looks up from her notebook. Oscar is leaned up against the bookshelf, arms crossed. They're in the library; Cleo was studying in the quiet room when he found her. 

"I told that shithead to kick rocks. He won't be bothering you if he knows what's good for him."

Instead of hearing 'thank you', Cleo rubs her hands over her face.

"Sugar tits," she mutters under her breath. 

"Oscar, I appreciate what you did, but I think you complicated things. What exactly did you do?"

"What are you talking about?" Oscar asks. Cleo closes the door to the quiet room and locks it. 

"Oscar...do you know who his parents are?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with-"

"-His dad's a _cop_ , Oscar."

Cleo starts pacing back and forth.

"They're not the good ones, either. I cut off Trevor and all of a sudden... _my dad_ gets stopped by _his dad_ for a _traffic violation_. My dad can tell you the law in his _sleep_ ; you think he'd do anything illegal during one of the busiest streets in LA?" Cleo rubs her temples.

"Dad, of course, told another officer about his job and pissed him off enough to escape a misdemeanor. But Trevor's dad has, for the past week, been harassing and trying to find any kind of dirt to book Dad on and now, because you're involved, he might set his sights on you."

"Why couldn't they go after you?" Oscar asks.

"Because they want to teach me a lesson by going after people associated with me. I don't know _what_ he told his parents about me but they really have it out for me."

"So let me get this straight," Oscar says, rubbing his face, "I do you a solid and now you put some heat on me?"

"No, it's...look, I just learned about this today and I asked you to get Trevor off my back _two weeks ago_. How was I supposed to know you'd do the honorable thing today?"

Cleo makes eye contact.

"I'll handle it, okay? I'll handle Trevor and I'll do what I have to to get his dad off your back."

"You pulled me into this shit-"

"-And I'm getting you out."

Silence.

"If you taught me anything, it's that if you want something done _right_ ," Cleo snatches her backpack, _"You do it yourself."_

~~~

**Present Day**

"And, that's how you make a banana split with vegan ingredients." 

Cesar, mouth full of ice cream, nods his head in approval. 

They're at Cleo's church, basking in the treats leftover from the service. Cleo is dressed in a white peplum dress with a sunflower pattern that hugs and enunciates her curvy figure; Cesar can't help but feel slightly uncomfortable at the older men leering at her while she's oblivious.

Cleo is chattering away with the congregation, her soft voice drowned out by the loud voices of aunties in garishly vibrant outfits.

He sits by his lonesome, shoving another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

“Hey, Lil Pappy!" One of the aunties greets Cesar, reaching over to pinch his cheek before he could dodge her sharp nails. 

“Hey, Auntie Jenkins...I thought we talked about...the pinching.” He winces. The smell of Egyptian musk isn’t lost on him. When he rubbed his cheek, Auntie Jenkins walks right past him and he feels something crammed into his hand as she walks past.

Opening his hand, he sees a $20 bill.

Maybe the pinches aren’t so bad after all. 

“Well if it isn’t my good friend ‘Patra. Time has been good to you, I see.”

Cleo’s face slips into shock. She and Cesar turn around.

There’s this white man has long brown hair that’s pulled into a bun, wearing a baggy green t-shirt, tattered blue jeans, and red Converse sneakers. His dark green eyes look almost black from the overhead lights as he walks to Cleo in long strides, arms stretched out.

“No hug? What happened to those good ol’ Christian values, ‘Patra?” He goads.

“Hello, Mr. Weiss. I thought we talked about you not speaking to me while the restraining order is in place.” Cleo bites out in a clipped and icy tone. Mr. Weiss holds up his hands in surrender.

“My bad, ‘Patra. But...the restraining order was indeed expired three days ago. Other than that, I come in peace, I just want to see how you’re doing.”

“It’s of no concern to you, Trevor.”

“That’s awful cold, coming from someone you dated—“

“—we never dated. We went on one date, and after you kept stalking me and assault—“

“—don’t lie in the House of God.” He hisses out.

“I don’t want to see you. Not now, not back then, and not ever. You’re not welcome here.” Cleo grits out, gripping Cesar’s hand tightly.

“The House of God says otherwise. We’re all His children under one roof.”

“Get out, Trevor.”

“Before I go,” Trevor digs into his pocket and pulls out a wad of papers. Unfolding them, he gingerly places them on the dessert tray. 

“See you June 8th.”

Cleo snatches the papers and reads them. Cesar is almost knocked over when Cleo storms after Trevor. She’s at the frame of the church’s exit, clutching the door frames with her nails scratching off the paint. 

“You’re taking me to court after all you’ve done? Do you _know_ who my father is? I will rake you over the coals, Trevor! That courtroom will know what you did! Everyone will know the truth about Officer Weiss and his _weasel son_! ” She screams out, amidst the nosy churchgoers and a confused Cesar. 

He watches her body come down from her anger, her nails digging into the door frame.

When she appears calm, she calmly walks past Cesar, grabs her purse, and heads towards the exit without a word.

 

**November, 2010**

Weeks have passed. 

Thanksgiving break is right around the corner; she had plans for a three-day vacation in Lake Tahoe with the few friends she had leftover from private school. This was the only thing keeping her together since that day; blocking it out of her mind has been getting harder since Trevor keeps bothering her. 

Hints are not Trevor’s thing; he’s always trying to talk to her, despite her letting it be known she doesn’t want his company. He sits down with her at lunch, he passes her notes in between periods, he follows behind her like a lost dog.

Her classmates laugh and snicker, thinking his antics are “cute”.

“Give him a chance,” Kimberly says through snickers, “Y’all look cute together.”

If Cleo could, she’d punch her in the throat twice. 

They didn’t understand this wasn’t _cute_ or _romantic_ , this was a boy, an upperclassman at that, who should know better than to do this. He just couldn’t take no for an answer…

 

That sick feeling washes over her. 

She can’t take it anymore.

He was going to leave her alone if it’s the last thing she does.

 

~~~

“He’s back?” Oscar asks. His aggravation isn’t lost on Cesar.

Cleo is pacing back and forth, still in her Sunday best. She’s wringing her gloves and chewing the lipstick off her lips. She’s muttering to herself, running her fingers through her braids.

“Why won’t he just _go away_?” She breaks down into tears, “why won’t he just _leave me alone_?” 

“I’ll handle it.” Oscar says. Cleo pauses.

“No, no you will _not_ handle it, Oscar. We will handle it… _together._ ”

 

**November, 2010**

It’s the day before Thanksgiving break. 

Cleo and Oscar collapse onto the bed, exhaling simultaneously. 

“How’s that for twenty minutes?” Oscar pants out, sliding off the condom. Cleo sucks her teeth. 

“Shut up.” Cleo bites out, getting dressed. Oscar lights his blunt and takes long drags, exhaling the smoke. He offers it to Cleo but she declines.

“You know I don’t smoke.” She says, buttoning her jeans. She slides on her sweater when Oscar takes another drag, his eyes never leaving her. 

Without warning, he pulls Cleo close to him.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

“Wh-”

He blows the smoke into her mouth, holding her mouth open by holding her chin.

“Breathe it in.” 

She tries, but sputters and chokes. Oscar laughs, patting her back.

“Let it happen, keep breathing in...that’s it...deep gulps...there you go.”

“I told you I didn’t smoke, you asshole.” Cleo croaks out, coughing. She scrambles for her purse, pulls out her inhaler, and takes a few puffs. 

Gaining her breath, she sits down on the bed, glaring holes into Oscar’s head.

“You’re okay. Next time will be better.” He says, pulling Cleo to his chest. 

“There’s not gonna be a next time. I don’t get high.”

“You should. Maybe it’ll take that stick out your ass.”

“Oh, fuck you, Oscar.”

“I’m down for Round 2. I got a good buzz going.”

Cleo slides out of Oscar’s grip and slings her purse over her shoulder.

“Cute. I’m gonna have to head home, and hopefully dodge my parents before they notice their 15-year-old smelling like pot.”

“Pot?” Oscar snorts, “You from the 70s? Who calls it pot nowadays? You’re such a dork.”

“Whatever-”

Her phone chirps multiple times on his nightstand. Cleo’s expression slips into terror.

“You good? Thought you told your parents-”

“-That’s not my parents. It’s Trevor. He’s been texting me from five different numbers.” 

“That pencil-dick is still bothering you? Give me your phone.”

“Oscar-” 

He snatches her phone and looks at the messages.

**Can we talk?**

**Are you ignoring me?**

**Answer me.**

**Wyd.**

**Hey.**

**Did I say something wrong?**

**ANSWER ME.**

**DON’T FUCKING IGNORE ME BITCH.**

**IF YOU DON’T PICK UP THE PHONE, I’M GOING TO SHARE YOUR NUDES TO THE SCHOOL.**

“You gave this nerd naked pics?” Oscar asks. Cleo’s eyes widen.

“Excuse me?” 

Oscar shows her the texts.

“What is he talking ab-”

The phone chirps.

All of the color drains from Cleo’s face. 

“How did he get those…” 

Oscar looks at the phone once more.

It’s a photo of Cleo, changing in the locker rooms, oblivious to the camera. 

Another photo shows Cleo on her phone using the bathroom. 

Another an up-skirt shot. Another of her in her home, taking a shower. In all of them, Cleo is unaware someone is taking the photo.

“This boy’s a fucking pervert.” Oscar muses, snuffing out the blunt. 

The phone keeps chirping. 

Photo after photo of Cleo, each one getting more inappropriate and invasive. When Oscar had seen the final text, a video of Cleo…

His ears grow hot. 

“What did he send?” Cleo asks. 

Oscar coughs, pocketing her phone. 

“You don’t want to know.” He says. 

“Cleo, you got a stalker.”

“What?” 

“From what I saw? He even knows what color panties you’re wearing right now.”

“Oh, my god…”

The phone still chirps.

**I WILL SEND THEM.**

**DON’T IGNORE ME.**

**EVERYONE WILL KNOW.**

**HEY.**

**CLEOPATRA YOU WILL FUCKING ANSWER ME.**

**FAT BITCH.**

**WHORE.**

**SLUT.**

“Never thought I’d say this, but I found someone who kills my high more than you do.” Oscar says, typing out a message.

“ _She can’t come to the phone, she’s busy bouncing on my dick right now. Ttyl._ Send.” He narrates, pressing the send button. 

Cleo grabs at her phone, but he’s too quick and much taller. 

“You’re making it worse, Oscar. Give me the phone, please.” She pleads. 

The phone is chirping off the hook before the phone shows a call from an unknown number. The two decide to let it go to voicemail. Fifteen minutes pass, and the notification chirps.

1 voicemail. 

Oscar presses the play button. 

_“You think you’re funny? Huh? You should be kissing the ground I walk on for me to even date a fat, ugly, disgusting slob like you. Nice guys always finish last, even fat bitches like you like thugs and men that treat you like shit so you can go online and bitch about where all the good men are, where the nice men are, well here I am, and you ghost ME of all people? I should…”_

The voicemail goes on for fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds. The two listened to Trevor rant about Mexicans, 9/11, Cleo’s panties, nice guys, not getting laid, and most importantly, his hatred of Oscar and fat people. 

Oscar doesn’t know whether to laugh or stomp a hole in Trevor’s head.

“And that’s why when I come into your house again, I’m gonna kill you and your whole family, bitch!” Trevor said, closing the voicemail. 

“This...I have to take this to court.” Cleo says. 

“I’m filing a restraining order against him.”

“What good is it going to do? You heard the voicemail. He’s batshit crazy. You think a restraining order is going to stop him?” 

“Well what do you suggest?”

“Follow my lead. Give me his address.” 

~~~

Oscar knocks Trevor to the ground with one blow. He grabs him by his greasy hair and lands extra blows to his face.

“Where is it?” He asks.

“Hit him again!” Cleo shouts, fighting the air.

“Whoop his ass! Whoop his mothafucking ass!” 

Oscar hits him again and slams him against a desk. 

“Last chance, Trevor. Or I make a phone call and get some friends to pay a visit. Your mom works at the floral shop on 59th, right? Shirley...with the blonde streaks?” 

“Oh, God, please…”

“Where the fuck are the cameras, Trevor?” Cleo demands, landing a blow to his stomach. He doubles over, the air knocked out of him.

“Should’ve warned you. She got a mean right hook.” Oscar deadpans. Cleo pushes Oscar out of the way and starts punching Trevor.

“Fucking creep...take photos of me...stalked me all fucking summer and autumn, you fucking...FUCK.”

“You got Minnie Mouse talking like Samuel L. Jackson.” Oscar laughs. Trevor coughs and spits out blood.

“I’ll tell you everything, just...stop hitting me!” 

Cleo punches him in the stomach again. She readies another blow but Oscar grabs her arm.

“Easy there, hothead. Ask questions first, whoop ass later.” 

Police sirens are wailing in the distance.

“Shit.” Oscar and Cleo say in unison.

“Where’s the cameras, Trevor?” Cleo screeches, shaking him by his shirt.

“Cleo, we got to go. Somebody called the pigs.” 

Cleo lands a blow to Trevor’s head, knocking him cold.

“Fuck the police!” She shouts as Oscar drags her away. 

They’re running as fast as their legs could take them. Cleo is a slow runner, her pants becoming full-out wheezes. They’re almost to the safehouse, a chop shop on the other side of town, when Cleo collapses, sputtering into coughs. 

“I can’t run anymore. My inhaler...I need my inhaler…” 

She’s wheezing, clutching at her chest.

Oscar notices the red and blue lights coming closer. 

He looks at her, and then the lights, biting his lip. 

“Go.” He tells her.

“I...I can’t--”

“I’ll let them catch me. You got to haul ass and do it now.” 

Cleo looks up, panting. She gets up, wheezing, and pulls Oscar into a deep hug before running off. 

“Freeze! Police!” 

Oscar holds his hands up before putting them behind his head and lying on the ground. As he’s being handcuffed, he hopes his small act of kindness will pay off in the end. 

**March, 2011**

The ankle monitor makes his leg itch. He reaches for a pencil to scratch at it but Cleo swats his hand. 

“It’ll make it worse.” She chides.

“What the fuck ever.” Oscar grumbles, residing to the couch. 

“You’re gonna thank me later. Trust me.” Cleo adds, reading her book. 

“Two more weeks and it’s over.”

“Feels long as shit, though.” 

“You’ll live.” 

A pause.

“Thank you.”

“For…?”

“Getting me a good ass lawyer. He got my sentence down to three months probation. That prosecutor was pissed.” 

“I told you my dad was a lawyer. I told him how you beat Trevor’s ass and he damn near was ready to shake your hand.”

“So you didn’t tell your dad that those blows were all you…?”

“Besides the point. It was a win-win for Dad. He got to represent the person who defended my honor and he got to humiliate Trevor with the list of charges that were pending against him all in one courtroom. I should be thanking you.”

“Just know we’re even. I helped you out and you helped me out.”

“You know...we do a lot of helping each other out. Almost like we’re…”

“Don’t say it…”

“Friends.”

“Goddammit, get out of my house.”

“Not till you say we’re friends.”

“Get out.” 

“I think you’ve gotten softer. The Oscar I know would’ve chucked me out of his house.”

“Don’t tempt me.” 

“You know what I think? I think...you and I are going to be doing a lot of this.”

“A lot of what?”

“Like...we talk shit to each other, but we help each other out. You may not call yourself it, but...you’re my friend.”

“Keep telling yourself that. I’m not your fucking friend.”

“Then what am I to you?”

A pause.

“You’re...something.” Oscar says, looking away to scratch at the skin around the ankle monitor.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, their relationship is built on history, and the shit is _dark_
> 
> I couldn't pinpoint the exact age Spooky is, so I'm going on a limb and say he's 25 and Cleo is 23.
> 
> This is going to be a timeline of when they first met to now, told to Cesar. All of the nasty bits, gross details, none of the flowery things. Hope you guys like it!


End file.
